


The Song of Our Souls

by AU Mer-Maid (neonstardust)



Series: Dork Drabbles [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Drabble Collection, Fluff? In My Fic? It's More Likely Than You Think, One Shot, Post-Canon, Triple Drabble, Violinist AU, Violinist Shirabu Kenjirou, Wedding Planner Oikawa, Weddings, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonstardust/pseuds/AU%20Mer-Maid
Summary: Yahaba just wants to run his flower shop in peace.Shirabu doesn't know what he wants to do with his life; he just knows he wants Yahaba to be a part of it.





	The Song of Our Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is actually composed of three separate drabbles, broken apart with time skips, as that seems like the most appropriate way to post them.

"Darn Ushiwaka." Oikawa aggressively folds a napkin into an intricate swan. "How dare he hire me," he hisses. Soon, a small army of swans amass, their delicate wings overshadowed by Oikawa’s wrath.

"Yahaba, salt the wedding cake!"

Yahaba doesn't look up from the centerpiece. He's already heard this same speech over and over again, each time only a little bit different, ever since Oikawa called him months ago at his flower shop. "Hanamaki-san won't deliver the cake until after the rehearsal ends." Carefully, he rearranges two peonies and pretends not to see Oikawa artistically stab a candle into its holder.

Yahaba can’t say he’s thrilled to be here either. He’d much rather be anywhere else on earth than at his old high school rival’s wedding, but providing flowers for all of Oikawa’s wedding planning events is business he can’t refuse, even if it means he always ends up dancing with the flower girl.

Looking out at a sea of burgundy roses and glistening daisies laid across laced tablecloths, Yahaba’s sad to admit this may be their most amazing setup yet. Across the room, Kyoutani hacks an ice sculpture into a magnificent swan. Iwaizumi joins him, muttering as he viciously curls red ribbons. Their hostility seems out of place surrounded by so much beauty. It makes his skin crawl.

“I’m never going to another Shiratorizawa wedding ever again—”

A soft note cuts off Yahaba’s sentence. More follow, floating gently through the church. They unfold into a soothing melody, curling around Yahaba like embracing arms, pushing away the unsettling feelings that have been hanging over his shoulder ever since he witnessed the atrocity of Tendou wearing a pink suit.

Spinning towards the sound, Yahaba’s eyes widen. The violinist stands alone on the altar, his tie still undone and music sheets a mess, but his eyes shine with passion as the song picks up, high notes dancing around him, taking on a life of their own. The melody reflects off the glass sculptures, rebounding into a choir of one, overflowing through the church.

“Shirabu-chan’s finally here.”

Yahaba barely hears Oikawa, barely notices the roses slip from his hands and scatter across the table. All he can see are long fingers curled gracefully around the bow, caramel hair shining under twinkling lights, and eyes that rage like a hurricane and flutter with the calm of the storm all at once as Shirabu meets Yahaba’s stunned gaze.

Warmth blossoming in his chest, Yahaba thinks that maybe going to another Shiratorizawa wedding isn’t such a bad idea after all.

Not if it means getting to hear Shirabu play one more time.

* * *

His voice is sweet, creating a rich melody that echoes around the store. Warmth radiates from each note, and the flowers almost seem to lean towards him, as if he shines brighter than the sun.

Shirabu watches him sway as he wraps the lilies in a neat bow, hips swishing and foot tapping out an upbeat rhythm. Shirabu's fingers twitch for a violin that isn't there. Wistfully, he wonders if he could play something good enough to match the beauty before him, and a slight blush dusts his cheeks.

Yahaba turns around, then jumps back, throwing the bouquet.

Biting down the urge to set it, Shirabu catches it just before it can hit the ground.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” Quickly, Yahaba rips the flower crown off his head and stuffs it under the counter. It leaves his hair sticking up at odd angles.

_Cute. _

“Too long,” Shirabu says instead. He hands him the lilies and tries not to shiver when Yahaba’s fingers brush against his.

“Ah, sorry.” Yahaba rubs the back of his neck. “So,” Yahaba pulls on a dazzling smile, “what can I get ya?”

“Uh…” Shirabu falters. Tearing his gaze away, he glances around the shop, wishing he knew something—anything—about flowers. “A gift. For a friend.”

Yahaba eyes narrow, skeptical, but he nods. “Well, what kind of gift? What do you want it to say?”

What did he want it to say? Shirabu frowns. Was he referring to flower meanings? Did flowers actually have meanings? Shirabu tries to think, but Yahaba is still staring at him.

Distantly, Shirabu remembers Tendou going through his phone, and, without thinking, he says, “I need flowers that say ‘I hope you get hit in the face with a serve.’”

“Salty.” Yahaba chuckles, the sound even more magical than his singing. “Flowers don’t have meanings like that, but there are curse bouquets,” he adds thoughtfully.

“Will that affect his volleyball skills?” When Yahaba shakes his head, Shirabu smirks. “Then a curse is perfect.”

Smile fond, Yahaba collects flowers from various shelves. “You still play, then?” he asks, and a certain wistfulness undercuts his words, too familiar for Shirabu’s liking.

Shirabu tries not to dwell on it. “Not on the same team. He plays recreationally on a community team with Reon-san and Semi-san.”

What starts as a single rose quickly grows into a vibrant bouquet, gracefully arranged and tied off with a maroon ribbon. “On the house,” he says, handing Shirabu the bundle with a wink that cuts straight through Shirabu’s chest.

“Thanks. I’ll see you again. I mean,” Shirabu stutters, face burning, “for, uh, more curses.”

“Right.” Yahaba leans his head in his hand, eyes knowing. “More curses.”

Turning away quickly, Shirabu walks out, but suddenly he feels like he’s the one under a spell.

* * *

A yawn interrupts Shirabu's sentence, crinkling his nose. His hand bumps his jaw in his rush to cover it.

Yahaba only sighs. "Told you not to stay up late."

Shirabu levels a sleepy glare at him. "Shut your face." Dark circles outline his eyes like bruises; Yahaba decides to let it be. For now.

"Wanna continue?" At Shirabu's nod, he cuts the leaves off the stems. Yellow petals smooth across his fingertips. "These carnations are for disappointment." He tucks them neatly into the bouquet.

Leaning over his shoulder, Shirabu repeats his words, his breath tickling Yahaba’s skin. Warmth spreads through his chest. “Aren’t those Valentine’s flowers?” Shirabu asks. Confusion tips his lips into a frown.

“Everyone always thinks that. Weddings. Funerals. Everyone wants them.” Yahaba bitterly cuts the foxglove. “They’re not even that pretty. Now geraniums"—he lifts the flowers to Shirabu’s nose—"mean stupidity.”

A smirk blossoms across his lips. “Then use a lot of those.”

Yahaba chuckles. “Tendou is going to get the wrong idea with all these flowers.” He delicately arranges the meadowsweet around the lilies. “What did he do—”

Yahaba’s breath hitches. Nuzzling into his shoulder, Shirabu doesn’t seem to notice. His nose glides along Yahaba’s neck, hair brushing against his ear.

Heat rushes to his face, and Yahaba almost doesn’t see Shirabu’s grip on the chair slacken until he tilts further to the side, getting dangerously close to the floor.

“Hey.” Yahaba grabs him before he can fall and pulls him around to lean against the counter. “Did you even sleep at all last night?”

Eyes fluttering closed, Shirabu gives a less than convincing hum.

Yahaba shakes his head. “I’m driving you home.” He reaches for his car keys, but his fingers still. Leaning into the counter, Shirabu tilts his head back, face serene, basking in the light of the setting sun.

His chest light, Yahaba knows Shirabu deserves better than carnations. Coxcomb. Baby’s breath. Daisies, red and wild and double, always double. Tucking a violet behind Shirabu’s ear, Yahaba smiles. One day, he’ll give him a bouquet worth more than any curse.

**Author's Note:**

> Flower Meanings:
> 
> Daisy: Beauty and innocence; loyal love
> 
> Daisy (red): Beauty unknown to possessor
> 
> Daisy (wild): Dost thou love me?
> 
> Daisy (double): Affection; I reciprocate your affection
> 
> Coxcomb: Affection; unfading love
> 
> Baby's breath: Everlasting love
> 
> Violet (blue): Love; enchantment; faithfulness


End file.
